


Luxury

by Potrix



Series: Unpredictable [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, First Time, First Time Topping, Gentle Sex, Gentleness, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Short & Sweet, Slice of Life, Tenderness, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22715203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: Jaskier knows luxury.As a viscount’s son, Jaskier knows the luxury of a childhood spent warm and clean and well-nourished. Of owning more than the bare necessities, of being taught to read and write and count.As a disowned viscount’s son, Jaskier learns of the luxury of freedom and choice and personal fulfillment. He discovers the luxury of travelling and turning his passion into a profession.And, upon meeting Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier experiences the luxury of falling in love.This, however?This is something else entirely.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Unpredictable [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593292
Comments: 77
Kudos: 1441





	Luxury

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled: soft bois (fucking in a semi-sentient forest)

Jaskier knows luxury. 

As a viscount’s son, Jaskier knows the luxury of a childhood spent warm and clean and well-nourished. Of owning more than the bare necessities, of being taught to read and write and count. 

As a disowned viscount’s son, Jaskier learns of the luxury of freedom and choice and personal fulfillment. He discovers the luxury of travelling and turning his passion into a profession. 

And, upon meeting Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier experiences the luxury of falling in love. 

This, however? 

This is something else entirely. 

Jaskier had written it off as a figure of speech when Geralt had told him the forest was displeased with the sinister rituals being carried out deep in its heart. He’d been too busy trying not to stumble over his own feet in the unnatural darkness or prick himself on one of the many strange, spiky things clinging to the trees and ground alike. 

But then Geralt had killed the blood mage and set the tortured spirits free and, almost instantly, things had begun to change. 

Walking away from the blood mage’s carnage, Jaskier had been able to see farther than an arm’s length for the first time in hours, golden rays of sunlight peeking through the densely packed trees all of a sudden. Slowly but gradually, beautiful flowers of all colours had started to replace the thorns and spikes and the ground, formerly uneven and rocky, had turned smooth and soft under their feet. The chilling sounds Jaskier had valiantly tried not to think too much about all morning had been replaced by friendly chirping and birdsong. Instead of unidentifiable shadows hovering at the edge of his vision, hares and squirrels had darted out from under bushes and shrubs to play and search for food.

“The forest is thankful,” Geralt had said with a shrug, when Jaskier had pointed out how improbably fortunate it was that Roach’s favourite berries were growing all along the path they’d, quite miraculously, happened upon shortly after the fight with the blood mage.

Jaskier had squinted at him, not sure if Geralt was being serious, but eventually shrugged it off. 

And then they’d found the clearing. 

Not a single pebble or stick that would poke them in their sleep anywhere in sight, a clear stream purling softly just a few steps away and an old, giant willow tree providing shade from the afternoon sun. 

“So,” Jaskier had said consideringly, looking around curiously as he’d helped wash the evidence of their morning’s activities out of Geralt’s hair, “this forest.”

“It’s old.” Geralt had tipped his head back, arching into Jaskier’s hands like a spoilt cat. “Powerful.” 

Then he’d pressed a kiss to the underside of Jaskier’s jaw and Jaskier had been suitably distracted from asking questions about potentially sentient forests for quite a while. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Geralt murmurs, now, eyes still closed and voice rough from sleep. 

Jaskier nuzzles closer, mouthing at the back of Geralt’s neck. “Enjoying the peace and quiet,” he says, then pinches Geralt’s waist when Geralt snorts at that. “No need to be rude, now, my dear.” 

Geralt hums and tugs at the arm Jaskier has thrown across his shoulders, making Jaskier laugh softly as he’s pulled to sprawl across Geralt’s back. Seemingly satisfied, with their legs tangled and their bodies pressed flush together, Geralt says, “There’s a vial of oil in my bag.” 

Said bag is thankfully within reach and Jaskier retrieves the vial, sitting up to straddle Geralt’s thighs and stroke his free hand up and down his spine. They’d never bothered to dress themselves after bathing last night and Jaskier’s content to watch the minute shifts of Geralt’s muscles as he breathes and shifts ever so slightly. 

He works the cork free of the vial and pours some oil into his palm, warming it before he starts to spread it across the broad expanse of Geralt’s back. Geralt sighs, deep and appreciative, but then turns his head enough to be able to glance up at Jaskier’s face. 

“While I appreciate the effort, this wasn’t what I had in mind.” 

Which makes Jaskier frown and then, once he catches on, spill most of the vial’s contents across the small of Geralt’s back. 

“That’s not—” Jaskier squeaks, feeling his cheeks heat and his cock stir at the implication. “We don’t—I mean, we’ve never—Geralt,” he trails off helplessly, chewing the inside of his cheek as Geralt peers up at him with concern. 

“Do you not want to—”

“No!” Jaskier almost shouts, then, quieter, fumbles to explain, “Yes, I do. Very much. It’s just that I’ve never—well. I’ve never. Done that. With another man.”

Geralt’s, “What,” is flat, bordering on disbelieving. 

Jaskier huffs and pokes him in the ribs. “Don’t pretend like that’s so hard to believe. I’m very aware of my looks and build. And the assumptions men tend to make when they look at me.” 

He nearly falls flat on his ass when Geralt moves to turn around, but then there is a strong arm winding around his waist and another pushing between his shoulders, urging him down. “Fools,” Geralt breathes against Jaskier’s lips, his kiss gentle and almost sweet. Derisive, he adds, “Humans.” 

“Excuse me,” Jaskier says, aiming for offended, but he’s fairly sure the fact that he lets Geralt keep kissing down his throat doesn’t help his case. “This bard enjoys being human, thank you very much.”

“Maybe,” Geralt suggests, eyebrows raised high, “that bard should shut up and put whatever’s left of my oil to good use.” 

And, really. What can Jaskier do but obey?

It’s a heady feeling, to have Geralt pliant and willing beneath him, a sight to behold when Geralt readily lets his legs fall open to grant Jaskier access to the most private parts of his body. His eyes flutter shut halfway when Jaskier pushes the tip of a trembling finger into him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in a way Jaskier is unable to resist. 

He leans in, bites at Geralt’s bottom lip, then kisses the corner of his mouth while he moves his finger deeper. Geralt hums, encouraging, and nudges his nose against Jaskier’s cheek until Jaskier kisses him properly. 

And Jaskier might be unfamiliar with the position, but he’s an expert when it comes to being at the other end of the act itself, so it doesn’t take him long after he’s added a second finger to find that spot inside Geralt that makes his breath hitch. They keep kissing, slow and unhurried, Jaskier’s free hand tight in Geralt’s hair, the way he knows Geralt secretly likes, and Geralt’s big hands framing Jaskier’s face, pulling him close again whenever Jaskier dares to move back to breathe. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier chides through a panting laugh, nipping at Geralt’s fingers.

Geralt steals another kiss in response before gently pushing Jaskier back. His eyes are dark and shining with arousal, his mouth red and wet on oh so enticing that, this time, Jaskier can’t help but move back in. 

He doesn’t see Geralt grab the vial, but he definitely notices when Geralt wraps a warm, slick hand around his cock. He moans, can’t stop himself, then whines when Geralt removes his hand after a few perfunctory strokes. 

“Come on,” Geralt says, low and husky and sounding distinctly amused. He grabs two hands full of Jaskier’s ass and pulls, wrapping one leg around Jaskier’s waist once he’s got Jaskier where he wants him. 

“Demanding,” Jaskier tisks and Geralt smiles, small but pleased, and suddenly it’s just—simple. Comfortable. Them.

Jaskier’s spent long enough preparing Geralt that he slides in without resistance, Geralt’s body hot and perfect around him. Geralt lets out a long, deep breath and then he tilts his hips, tightens the grip of his leg and they both moan when Jaskier sinks ever so slightly deeper. It takes them barely a minute to find the angle that makes Geralt let out little grunts with each of Jaskier’s thrusts, Geralt’s fingers digging into Jaskier’s back to urge him on. 

If he hadn’t lost all shame years ago, Jaskier would probably be embarrassed when he can feel himself approach release soon after, but as it is, he merely shifts so he can wrap his fingers around Geralt’s leaking cock. He leans down, again, to bring their mouths together, rocks his hips harder, runs his thumb over the head of Geralt’s cock and that is all it takes. 

Geralt shudders through his climax, biting down on Jaskier’s shoulder, then growls when Jaskier stills. It sends a shiver down Jaskier’s spine and he drops his face into Geralt’s neck, thrusting three, four more times before spending himself in Geralt. 

Jaskier’s still breathing heavily when Geralt moves them. He makes a grumpy face as Jaskier slips out of him in the process, but gets distracted once he has Jaskier pinned under him, mouthing at the bruise he’s left on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

Jaskier runs his hands up and down Geralt’s sides, allowing himself to drift. He’s warm and content, all loose and still shivery, Geralt a reassuring weight on top of him. The trees are rustling quietly, there’s a slight breeze, cool and refreshing, and the sweet smell of summer and flowers is hanging heavily in the air. 

He blinks his eyes open again when Geralt touches his cheek, then brushes a kiss over that same spot, murmuring a quiet, “How are you feeling?” 

Jaskier smiles and seeks out Geralt’s mouth, the only word that comes to mind, “Luxurious.”

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com).


End file.
